He took the book and found: “Let us love one another. Let our children, physical and spiritual, love one another. It is all that we can do. Perhaps the earth will neglect our love. Perhaps she will confirm it, and suffer some rallying-point, spire, mound, for the new generations to cherish.”
“He wrote that when he was young. Later on he doubted whether we had better love one another, or whether the earth will confirm anything. He died a most unhappy man.”
He could not help saying, “Not knowing that the earth had confirmed him.”
“Has she? It is quite possible. We meet so seldom in these days, she and I. Do you see much of the earth?”
“A little.”
“Do you expect that she will confirm you?”
“It is quite possible.”
“Beware of her, Rickie, I think.”
“I think not.”
“Beware of her, surely. Going back to her really is going back—throwing away the artificiality which (though you young people won’t confess it) is the only good thing in life. Don’t pretend you are simple. Once I pretended. Don’t pretend that you care for anything but for clever talk such as this, and for books.”